Chapter 4 #2
She rushed from the chieftain’s chamber, hurrying through the back passages to the work room where the healer and hunter spent most of their time. Bolting through the open door, she halted as she saw both men leaning over some half-assembled oddity, both of them frowning as they looked up at her.
I cannae lose them.
“Els, what’s the matter?” Ben asked, putting down the tools in his hands and wiping the grease from his fingers as he came over to her. Tall and lanky with copper-red curls and the kindest eyes, he had the look of a prince from a far away land. “You’re shaking.”
“She’s had a fright,” Ulf said. Shorter and broader than the healer, he looked every inch the Viking marauder with his arrogant features, fair hair and pale eyes.
Yet he had been orphaned as a lad and raised by a childless Scottish laird and his wife, so he was in fact only Norse in appearance. He opened his arms. “Come here, Wife.”
“No’ yet.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “We must wait until we may wed properly, before the other vassals and the clan. We must wait.”
“Did Kelso scare you?” Ben tried to take hold of her hands, which she yanked away. “Elspeth, if he threaten or hurt you in any way–”
“I shall end him,” Ulf promised. “We ken how to do that now.”
“Stop, I beg you.” She knew she was only making matters worse, so she added, “Permit me the time to sort out my entanglement with Kelso. He doesnae yet believe that I no longer want him, but I shall convince him. Until I do, leave the lad alone.”
“Let us talk to him with you,” the healer suggested. “We can sit down, just the four of us, and work this out in a civilized fashion.”
“He’s no’ from your world,” the hunter told him. “A clansman wouldnae sit down and talk with rivals for their woman. He’d challenge us to fight for her, and he’d win.”
“She’s not a sword or a horse,” Ben protested. “He can’t beat us up just to take her away from us.” He glanced at her. “What, really?”
“Here only females possess the right of refusal,” Ulf said. “We cannae interfere or refuse on her behalf. If we attempt do thus, Kelso may demand we fight.”
It would come to blows between them, Elspeth thought, horrified now. As a hunter Ulf knew only too well how to kill animals, but he had never fought a McKeran. Ben’s oath as a healer was to do no harm. She might end up losing them both.
“I refused Kelso. Now I shall refuse you and Benedict.” Elspeth hated uttering the words, but at least it would keep the men from fighting over her. “You’re free to share pleasures with any female you wish but me.”
Running away in the next moment was cowardly, but she couldn’t bear to see how much she had wounded them. That she had done too long already.
Harper stood staring in the direction Rory had gone, wondering if she should be stupid enough to go in search of him.
The man was angry, he was apologizing, he was running off.
He reminded her so much of herself it was like finding a long-lost male twin.
Only she didn’t have a single sisterly inclination toward the armorer.
On the contrary, she wanted to drag him into the nearest room with a bed and a door bolt and get right down to business.
A business at which she had zero experience, no less.
I am not having first-time sex with Medieval Man.
A tall, gorgeous blonde woman in a pretty cream-colored gown came around the corner and gave Harper the once-over as she sauntered toward her.
She moved as if she were walking a runway in Paris, but she had a big basket of fruit on her arm, a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and some stray hairs had escaped her long braid.
Harper recognized her at once, of course, thanks to the fashion magazines Athena loved to read.
The woman here looked much healthier and happier than she had as a supermodel.
“You must be Ms. Ensley.” The blonde offered her hand. “I’m Grace Johansen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, call me Harper, please. Agent Travars mentioned that you were here, too.” She clasped her fingers briefly. “On the other side everyone believes you jumped off a cliff or drowned yourself.”
“So I’ve been told,” Grace said, looking irked now.
“By me, no less.” A petite, black-haired Latina in modern clothing joined them. “Hey, what do they say about my disappearance?”
“Esme Martinez? Man.” Harper shook her head.
“I would give anything to be on a live stream right now.” She grimaced at the petite journalist. “Sorry, occupational hazard. You and another reporter have been missing since you left McKeran’s Castle together.
Everyone thought you ran off to Mexico together. ”
Esme’s jaw dropped for a moment, and then her expression darkened. “What other reporter?”
“Jake something. You took his job from him a couple years back? Or that’s what the grapevine says.” She held up her hands as the journalist swore in Spanish. “Don’t curse the messenger.”
“How did they put me with Jake?” Esme demanded.
“Whatever happened made him end up with trauma-induced amnesia,” Harper said.
“They found him naked in a forest with no idea what happened to his money, his car or you, but he had a lot of black hair all over him. The theory about Mexico evolved into another of those abducted by Bigfoot stories. Cops never said much and, far as I know, are still investigating.”
“The pendejo probably made up the story to cover up a drunken binge,” the journalist said, stamping her tiny foot. “I could kill him. Maybe I will if we ever go home again.”
“None of that was generated by me, Ms. M,” she said, grimacing. “Honestly, I’ve been over ghostbusting in the UK for the last month.”
“Some of your vlogger friends told me you were there when I went to the castle one-night stand,” the journalist said. “But me and Jake? There’s no way. And why would we run off to Mexico, just because I’m a Chicana? Even the press gossips are such racists.”
Harper nodded her agreement. “There’s a vlogger who swears my mom was Christina Hendricks and my dad was Bigfoot, and his video got over a hundred thousand views. There’s even a whole lurid fan fic story about my conception on his web site.”
“Remember, they had me committing suicide over my mother, who did nothing but abuse me while she was alive,” Grace said, patting Esme’s shoulder.
“In any case, welcome to Dun Talamh, Harper. I work now as the clan’s chatelaine, so if you need anything, please let me know.
Now I’m off to check on how things are going with the laundry since we actually have soap again. ”
Harper watched her depart before she sighed. “Can I hate her because she’s even more beautiful in person?”
“No, because she’s genuinely sweet, and her guy Farlan is the nicest McKeran. Besides, you’re so big and gorgeous none of us can ever hope to compete with you.” Esme tilted her head back. “Dios mio, I only come to your elbow, manita. You must be seven feet tall.”
“Six foot five.” Her stomach chose that moment to growl noisily. “I’m starving. Do I just go in there and beg someone for food?”
“Never beg.” The petite woman made a sweeping forward gesture. “Come with me and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Inside the kitchens a large group of men and women stood working at tables, over sinks and in front of a huge fireplace.
Some appeared to be preparing dishes while others scoured soiled dishes and pans; a couple of the youngest men turned a huge, string-bound roast on an iron spit standing in front of the flames.
In the center of the chaos a tall, sturdy-looking middle-aged woman was snapping out orders while dicing a huge pile of gigantic parsnips.
She looked as if she had never once tolerated a fool, something Harper instantly admired.
“Hey, Doon,” Esme said, sidling up to her. “Can we raid your pantry? My new friend here can’t wait until the morning meal, and I’m hungry, as always.”
The cook dumped her chopped bits into a bowl and then met Harper’s gaze. She went very still for a moment, her eyes widening.
“If this is a bad time, ma’am,” she said as politely as she could, “I can come back later.”
“You’ve come at exactly the right moment, lass. I’ve you to thank for the full cream pans this morn, I reckon.” She gave her a beautiful smile. “Sit over here, my ladies.”
A short time later she and Esme were tucking into huge bowls of veggie stew, paired with giant oval planks of butter-topped sourdough. Doon went back to work, but kept an eye on them, still grinning as if Harper were an early Christmas present.
“So tell me about what you found in the castle when you did the tour,” Esme said. “Besides the doorway to Chaos Castle here. Did you see any spiders?”
“No, but I looked in a closet and saw a neat painting of your guy,” Harper said, which made the other woman break out in Spanish and pump her little fist in the air. “Judging by your reaction that’s a good thing.”
“I painted that portrait of Darro,” Esme said. “It’s got to be there for me to find in the past, when I’m a little girl. I went with my grandmother when she worked there cleaning up after the tours.”
“You’re your own bootstraps paradox.” She chuckled. “Okay, so tell me how little Esme gets involved in this mess.”
As the journalist recounted her childhood experiences at McKeran’s Castle, Harper finished her stew, and drank a couple cups from the big kettle of fragrant herbal tea Doon had provided for them.
Before she could get up and wash her dishes the cook came and collected them, replacing their bowls with a platter of berries, cheese and nuts.
“Eat and rest yourselves, my ladies,” Doon said, and nodded at the windows overlooking the gardens. “The fair stretch of steadiness we’ve had, ’twillnae long last.”